


The Goddess Rendered Mortal

by hereticalvision



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalvision/pseuds/hereticalvision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thierry shows Moirin the portraits of his ancestors, but not the portrait of Melisande Shahrizai.  The portrait has its own story, and it begins when Mavros Shahrizai seduces Leander Maignard at Imriel and Sidonie's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Goddess Rendered Mortal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norgbelulah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/gifts).



It was with considerable pride that Thierry showed Moirin the portraits of House Courcel.

Moirin reached out her fingertips to touch the portrait of Alais, seeking traces of herself in her ancestress, perhaps. "Her line isn't represented?"

"No." Thierry coloured a bit. "Since it parted ways with House Courcel and went on to become wholly Alban, no. But here you can see your…" He had to think a moment, and eventually count on his fingers. "Great-great-great-grandparents, Drustan mab Necthana and Ysandre de la Courcel."

Had there been more portraits, Thierry could not have said what Moirin might have seen there. He had seen portraits of all the great romantic figures of d'Angeline history and he had felt at times a sense of continuity, at other times a profound sense of disconnection.

The portrait of Melisande Shahrizai had come as something of a surprise. It was on not on display in the portrait hall, of course – he had found it while going through a load of Ysandrian period art. It did not have a name on it, but the woman's colouring, the sorrow in her face, the inscription 'For Imriel'; Thierry knew who it must be. He saw at once how the nation must have gone to its knees for there she was, beauty and cruelty in one.

Thierry stared at the portrait for a very long time.

 

The portrait came to be painted like this:

At the wedding of Sidonie de la Courcel to Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel, Mavros de la Shahrizai was introduced to a man named Leander Maignard.

"You must be kin!" Mavros said at once, the blue-black Shahrizai hair so distinctive that there could be little doubt of it.

Leander laughed. "Oh, distant, distant, not so well as I could claim it."

"Well, but for this day we are all kin, are we not?" Mavros said expansively. "Come, there are too many of the same faces as this event and I would feel myself fortunate to make a new acquaintance now that my dear cousin is shackling himself into marriage."

Leander gave a small smile.

"Ah, so you too have fallen under the Princess's spell?" Mavros surmised. "She is a singular woman indeed."

Leander laughed at Mavros, and perhaps at himself also. "I serve a singular woman," was all he said then, and Mavros would not think on it again until much later. Leander's sensuous mouth drew his eye, for Mavros was man who found pleasure in many things and the mirror likeness of their faces pleased him well.

He bedded Leander that night, thoroughly and well. Leander's beautiful mouth stretched itself to perfection as he performed the languisement and he winked up at Mavros as he watched, bringing a shout of joyous laughter from Mavros' lips.

"Ah, you would have done well in Orchis house," Mavros said when they were finished.

Leander laughed. "I shall take that as a compliment, cousin," he said, and kissed him long and slow. He lay back then, propping his head up on one arm.

Mavros drank in the sight of him again and smiled. "How long will you in Terre d'Ange?"

Leander met his gaze. "I depart on the morrow."

Mavros frowned in disappointment. "So soon?"

Leander gave a careless shrug. "There is much to be done. I serve, and therefore my comings and goings are not always my own to dictate."

"And if your comings were your own?" Mavros said slyly.

Leander laughed. "Why then it would be well to spend more time here in my homeland with my fine cousin to show me the ways of my house."

Mavros' eyes gleamed and he pulled Leander's body to his.

 

After two days spent in a lust-filled haze, Leander announced at last that he could delay no longer. His ship would be departing, and were he not on it the consequences would be grave indeed.

"Tis so?" Mavros eyed Leander again. The boy was full of merriment. He was not like Imriel, with the dark corners and the fault lines so evident in his soul. Leander's fault were of vanity and a tendency towards selfishness, a reluctance to form a deep and lasting bond. Yet all of that appealed to Mavros. Imriel, his dearest friend, was occupied with his new wife and all attendant affairs of state. Mavros had little of his own to concern him. Perhaps a new adventure would be welcome.

"Would your lady object so terribly if you were to have company on your voyage?" he said idly.

Leander stilled at once. "I- That is, I do not feel it would be-" He stumbled over the words.

Mavros sighed. "If you do not wish to continue in my company you may as well say as much."

"Tis not that," Leander said at once.

"Well, then," Mavros said, reaching out to kiss his fingers. "Where is the harm?"

 

The harm became apparent only after the ship had departed.

"We are bound for Cythera?" Mavros swallowed. Melisande de la Shahrizai. A formidable woman, known to Mavros only through reputation and Imriel's broken memories. A woman who never left a neutral opinion behind her. Mavros' mind swam. She may have aided the country on her son's behalf, but truly, would his loyalty to Terre d'Ange come into question if he were known to have visited her?

Leander smiled. "You said you were in search of adventure."

Mavros looked at him askance. "I feel however that this is more adventure than a man such as myself should be expected to anticipate."

Leander laughed at him again, laughed and laughed. And Mavros, who had followed Leander out of mere indolent boredom found his heart betraying him again as he gave into the temptation of those laughing eyes, those smirking lips, and tumbled Leander back onto their shared bed.

 

On their arrival, Leander went at once to report on Imriel's marriage to the prince's mother.

"Her ladyship is curious to meet you," he said on his return.

And so, Mavros found himself in a sunlit courtyard meeting the greatest traitor to the nation of Terre d'Ange, the woman who had nearly ruined his house, the mother of his closest friend.

Melisande de la Shahrizai was nothing he could have imagined. Beauty, certainly he had expected. Beauty and cruelty – the latter calculated in the way of his House, nothing like Leander's thoughtlessness. Terrible sadness in her eyes. The quiet joy of reflection. A woman, truly, old as Phèdre nó Delaunay but still young enough to turn the blood to fire.

Mavros had known a thousand shades of beauty in his days. Glorious Amarante, of course. Adepts of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, from Camellia house where perfection is prized above all and Heliotrope where every moment spent is crafted to feel as though no other will ever own the heart and beauty that is yours. The proud curved arms of Mandrake. The beauteous perfection of a Valerian adept sweating and pleading, tears pouring down their faces as they plead 'no more' while their bodies beg for another blow. Mavros had seen much, but never had his heart been so swiftly lost.

"My lady," he murmured, and made a half-bow.

Melisande's mouth curved slightly. "Imriel has told me much of you, Mavros," she said. Her voice, too, was like fine wine or the music of Eglantine.

"I have tried to have a care for him my lady," was all Mavros could manage.

Melisande smiled sadly. "As have I. It is my deepest regret that I have not been able to come to know him better. But all things in time. He is well, now, I think, despite the scars which have marred him."

The tone raised slightly and Mavros cleared his throat. "Indeed, my lady. He has a great love for Sidonie-"

"I know," Melisande said impatiently.

"Of course," Mavros said, annoyed with himself for stating the obvious. "But this has been the instrument of his reconciling the disparate pieces of his nature. He is not a happy person, my lady," he risked a glance again at that face, then lowered his eyes at once, "but that she makes him so. He struggled for many years…"

"With my actions?"

Her tone, so soft and sad demanded immediate contradiction. "With his own nature, my lady. We are House Shahrizai and we all share certain desires. Imriel's experiences made him reluctant to accept this part of himself, but we must know and love who we are before we can achieve anything at all."

Melisande stepped closer then and Mavros dared a look at her.

"You, I think," she said wryly, "have never suffered from a lack of self-love."

Mavros laughed. "No indeed, my lady," he said, smiling. "And I hope I was able to be a good example to my cousin in how to be less than serious when occasion calls for levity."

Melisande's eyes sparkled at this and Mavros felt his heart flutter again. Ah, who would not put themselves on a leash for this woman? Who would not offer her a kingdom?

"I hope so, young Mavros," Melisande said. "I hope so indeed."

There didn't seem to be much else to say yet Mavros could not quite bear to leave her side just yet. "May I draw you, my lady?" he blurted out. "For Imriel," he tacked on at once.

Melisande smiled as though she had been anticipating just such a request. "I would be happy to permit it," she said, and her smile serene made Mavros forget all those who had died because of her machinations and think instead of all those who had bedded her and lived to tell the tale.

 

"Ah, so you too have fallen under my lady's spell?" Leander said with a smile when Mavros returned at length. "She is a singular woman indeed."

"Indeed," Mavros said. In his pocket was a portrait bearing an inscription for Imriel – a keepsake for him, just as he had promised his cousin's mother. But he knew as well that he would copy it before he handed it over and that he would keep the copy for as long as he should live, remembering the traps that the heart can set and why it was better to remain like Leander and instead follow the path of pleasure first. Love as thou wilt, Elua said, and Mavros chose love which in the end meant little over the love which cost more than the soul could pay.

"Come here," he said to Leander, and Leander, smiling, came.

 

The copy of the portrait is no longer in the hands of House Shahrizai, stolen long ago by one who could not have understood its significance, traded as nothing more than a lovely work of art. It was returned to Terre d'Ange after it came into the possession of a child called Bao who looked upon it and wondered for the first time about the great distant kingdoms across the seas, turning his face towards his destiny and a love that would tear at his soul in turn.


End file.
